The Elvis Comeback Special
by jammywho
Summary: Sam and Dean come across a series of unusual murders and one thing becomes certain: Elvis ain't dead.
1. Chapter 1

As the snow flies…

Footprints lead up to the door of a shop selling guns and ammunitions. Long strides between the wide footprints and the occasional skid-marks suggested this man was in a hurry. The slightly more worrying aspect was the tinge of red that stained the snow where the left boot came down, but then again, that was hardly unusual in this neighbourhood.

The door's buzzer broke the silence as it swung open to reveal an angry young man, a hunter. In his hands, he held a plastic bag with the barrel of a recently purchased shotgun poking from the top like a periscope. He looked around, paranoid, smelling the air.

On the wind, he hears the far away growling of a dog and what could be a few notes on a guitar. The hunter broke into a gallop and runs towards the nearest car; one far too small to be his. With a club-like motion, the hunter swung the shotgun through the driver's window, setting off the alarm, but within a few seconds, he was in and had disabled the alarm.

The snarling came again as he hotwired the car to start, but this time it was closer. He floored the accelerator and the car burst into life. He sped away but couldn't escape the sensation that whatever had made that noise was following. Hell, even the car's engine sounded like a dog growling. He turned on the radio to ease his mind; he twisted the dial until…

…He froze. In his rear view mirror, he could see two red eyes and two razor sharp rows of teeth. There hadn't been anything there when he'd broke in, he was sure of it. But now there was no denying the monstrous hound snarling on the backseat.

The hunter slammed the brakes, flinging the dog forward, disorientating it momentarily. In a single fluid move, he swung the door open and darted out. For a second, he looked back, seeing the hound pursuing him hungrily. He looked back in time to see a fist come into existence, breaking his jaw and making him fall to the ground.

The hound caught up to him and started tearing away at his flesh. In the background, he could make out a few words of a song on the car radio:

"He buys a gun, steals a car, tries to run…"

The last thing he saw were the shoes of his assailant. They were made of blue suede.

"…But he don't get far"


	2. Chapter 2

The diner had accumulated a fine layer of grease, which not only permeated the food and the kitchen, but along the tables, the seats and even, somehow, the ceiling. It was in this diner that Sam Winchester found himself sitting, with his laptop open in front of him. He took a bite out of the generously named "pancakes", dripping oil over his layers of plaid.

Dean Winchester slid along the frictionless floor, landing on the bench opposite Sam. Before him was the bacon cheeseburger Sam had ordered for him (Dean wasn't one for conventional breakfasts). He took a messy bite, and said, while chewing,

"You looking for a case?"

"Yeah. There's an odd one a few miles away. There's this guy who got mauled to death by a dog of somekind."

"Hellhound?" spat Dean

"No, there was a witness. He said it was just a dog; a visible one. Like a hound or something."

"So a normal dog? No voodoo crap? Not my problem"

"No, but there was something else. The witness said she saw a glowing fat figure" Sam gave a chuckle and looked up at Dean "in a jumpsuit."

"Not?" An eyebrow went up.

"Yup. Elvis Presley."

"Oh." Dean cracked a smile. "I've been waiting for this, Sammy boy."

The Impala roared down the road with Elvis' greatest hits blaring out of the window.

"You're the devil in disguise; oh yes you are." Dean sang along (although calling it singing would be charitable)

"Dean, can we listen to something else, you're making me uncomfortable"

"Not an Elvis fan?" smirked Dean.

"Not a devil fan" quipped Sam.

Dean begrudgingly changed the track. "So, how do we know this witness, this…"

Sam checked his newspaper "Uh… Linda Arnold"

"Yeah, how do we know she isn't just some conspiracy nut?"

"In fairness, Dean, most of the conspiracy nuts we meet turn out to be right."

"And here we are"

They got out, dressed in the sort of suits that charmed the confidence of others. They strode purposefully towards the police station, looking as if they belonged, briefly flashing their badges at the receptionist, who paid the smallest possible amount of attention.

"Agents Cartnell and Reynolds, FBI. We're here about Harold Rhodes"

"The dog attack victim?" The receptionist looked down her glasses at them.

"Yeah. We need to have a peek at his personal effects."

"In the box." She dropped a cardboard box on the counter. "Not much in there; a wallet, a knife, a shotgun in a bag, some new age bracelets and some random crap."

Sam glanced at Dean. "A hunter?"

The receptionist shook her head. "A whacko. From out-of-town"

"What do we know about him?"

"His wallet says he's Harold Rhodes, but his passport says he's Ron Granger. Same picture in each. Probably both fake. The car wasn't his, either; stolen."

"Thank you, you've been a lot of help" said Sam, turning away with Dean. In a more hushed voice, he murmured "Ron Granger; didn't Jeff Ramsey go by that name?"

"Jeff? No way was he killed by a dog, man. That guy could take on a vampire nest by himself. He wouldn't get ganked by Scooby Doo. No chance."

"Maybe it's not a dog, a werewolf maybe?"

"Not tonight."

"Well, maybe Linda knows something we don't."

"Hey" Dean turned to the receptionist. "Where's Miss Arnold?"

"Back there; they've just finished interrogating her."

"Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

The interrogation chamber was cold and sterile, although the witness remained very calm and filled with almost a fanatic happiness. Visible on her jacket was a Graceland pin and her hair was styled in a quiff. Her hands were fidgeting wildly under the desk.

"So you're an Elvis fan?" asked Dean.

"I am, and so, I take it, are you." Smiled Linda

Dean glanced at Sam. He'd come across telepaths before. "How did you know?"

"Everyone's an Elvis fan."

Sam raised his hand. "I'm not"

Rage filled Linda's eyes "then you're wrong."

"He doesn't mean it. He's just not as into it as we are. Although that's a pretty fancy pin you've got there"

"Looks pretty worn. I take it you're his biggest fan?"

"I'm a collector. I've got all sorts of Elvis merchandise. Got all the films, all the records, a pair of his underpants…"

"Woah. Keep it relevant, Linda."

"Let's talk about the dog attack. What was it, a terrier?"

"Nope. Ain't nothing but a hound dog. Wasn't no friend of his, though" She laughed, fanatically.

"Uh-huh." Sam scribbled down a few notes and circled the words "crazed fan"

"You said you saw the King himself. Were you drunk at all? Drugs, medication?"

"No, perfectly sane, perfectly sober. He was there. He was fat, too. Like 70s Elvis. Shiny jumpsuit and everything."

"Was the dog his? Did he tell it to attack?"

"Couldn't tell. He just punched the guy and let the dog maul him to death."

"And you just stood by?"

"I was a little shocked okay? There was a murder and a rabid dog and the king of rock 'n' roll. I wish I could've done something, though. I could've said hi or something; ask him how he faked his death."

"Faked his death?"

"Yeah, everyone knows Elvis ain't dead. This just proves it."

Sam cast a questioning look at Dean and sighed.

"Thanks. That will be all."

"Actually, there was one other thing. He did sort of reached into the guy's chest and took something out. Is that any help?"

Dean whispered in Sam's ear "Story holds up; this report says Jeff was missing a heart. Question is, why is Elvis harvesting organs?"

Then he turned back to Linda; "Thank you, Linda. No further questions."

Sam and Dean left the interrogation room and stood almost astounded for a few seconds before Sam broke the silence.

"So; cannibal Elvis. Do we believe this?" posed Sam

"A hunter's dead, Sam and it sure as hell wasn't Lassie."

"But what does Elvis want a heart for?"

"Didn't he have a heart attack on the toilet or something?"

"You reckon he's looking for a replacement? Why?"

"Well his later songs lacked heart" smirked Dean.

Sam glared at Dean contemptuously. "I don't think you're taking this seriously."

"What's to take seriously? It's zombie Elvis, Sam!

"Did you see the bag Jeff was carrying the gun in?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It's not a bag from a gun store. It had "Murray's musical memorabilia" written on the side, with a big ass acoustic guitar on the side"

"So he bought his own bag. What's the matter, I thought you liked the environment"

"Or he went there first and bought something that got him killed. Presumably someone stole it from him between his time of death and when the ambulance got to him."

"But there was only one witness at the scene. Linda? Come to think of it, she did look like she was hiding something."

"We could follow her and scope out her place."

"Good plan. Hey" he turned to the receptionist and slid a card under the protective glass. "Call us if any more freaky stuff comes up."

"What, like Jimi Hendrix eating brains? Kurt Cobain sucking blood?"

"Heh. If it comes to it, yeah. Thanks for your help today. Odd case this. Maybe later we could talk some more, over a whiskey?"

"I don't drink whiskey"

"Some wine then?"

"I don't drink at all, actually."

"Over water, then?"

"Oh take a hint, will you? No."

Dean straightened himself up; "Okey dokey then. Let's go, agent."

Sam stifled a laugh as he filed out through the door.

"Not a word, Sammy. Not a word."


	4. Chapter 4

Linda pulled up outside her house as the sun set over the town. The oncoming darkness rather neatly disguised a '67 Chevy Impala a few yards behind her.

"Is this her place?" inquired Sam.

"The house with the Graceland gates? Yeah, I guess so. Hang on, she's going in."

The gates parted, as her car slinked into the garage. Dean parked the impala across the street and Sam produced two pairs of binoculars from the glove-box.

"Stakeout time?"

"All night?"

"If we have to."

Turning the keys in the lock, Linda opened the door to the sound of an Elvis record. She glanced at her car's trunk before entering, dancing as she did so. As the song entered the chorus, she strolled over the mantelpiece and gave herself a winning smile as she picked up the mirror sitting atop it.

"Linda, is that you?" A deep, slurred voice came from upstairs.

She nearly dropped the mirror. "Derek?" She expelled some relieved laughter. "oh thank goodness it's you" She carefully placed the mirror next to the fireplace and walked timidly to the bottom of the stairs. When she looked up, a single blue suede shoe appeared at the summit. She swallowed her fear.

"Ooh ooh ooh, I feel my temperature rising…"

White sequinned legs descended the stairs, followed by the beginnings of a beer belly and a hairy chest bursting from a jumpsuit. Sitting atop them was a remarkably square head with a mess of black hair, drowning in gel. Linda gasped in a lungful of air.

"Oh it is you!"

"It sure is, baby!"

She ran and wrapped her arms around him; "I thought you said you weren't going to dress up for me?"

"It's because I love you, baby. And besides, this way, we get to do it"

"Oh, really?" Lifting an eyebrow, she pulled off her coat, one arm at a time. Still struggling with the sleeves, Derek cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with an abundance of saliva.

"Your kisses lift me higher…"

As the kiss went on, Derek noticed that Linda seemed to be clinging on to him harder and harder and his head was forced higher and higher. He opened his eyes as she grappled onto his shoulders. He drew back in shock. She was levitating like a minus sign, eyes wide with terror. Her nails dug into him like talons as he tried to pull her down to Earth, but she resisted him with a mysterious force.

She strained her mouth, barely forming the words "Help… me…"

An invisible sphere of wind blasted him back against the wall. He watched helplessly as she began spinning in mid-air, slowly at first, but turning faster until she glowed red with heat; flames spat from her body in every direction, licking across the wallpaper. Soon the fire began eating away at her skin, her lungs, her muscles, and her brain; soon the flames encircled her heart.

"You light my burning sky… Burning love…"

Derek crawled back, terrified, wary of the surrounding flames that crept in on him from every angle. Smoke and ash –the remains of Linda- began to choke the room. Soon she invaded his lungs, slowly caking the insides of his mouth in a fatal kiss. Tears leaked from his eyes, scared more for losing Linda than for his own life. He prepared himself for death and closed his eyes.

Splinters burst from the door as a boot bashed its way in. The Winchesters burst in, covering their mouths, their eyelids almost shut. Sam instinctively went for the survivor, lifting him up onto his shoulders as the last grain of consciousness fell from Derek. Following very similar instincts, Dean whipped out his gun and unleashed a round into the firey sphere. As the bullets penetrated the flaming cloud, sparks crackled, but abated, bursting into oblivion. A human heart fell, seemingly evaporating in yellow flames as it hit the floor.

Dean motioned to Sam to hurry up and Sam gestured to the rather heavy Elvis impersonator strewn over his shoulder. Flamed flooded the doorway they had entered through. Dean sighed and flung himself through the window, littering glass everywhere. Sam followed through, but first passing Dean the limp body of Derek.

Fleeing the scene, Sam and Dean lumbered Derek into the back scene of the Impala as the top floor exploded behind them. Dean slid into the driver's seat as Sam looked back at the remains. For a second, he thought he saw a flash of rhinestones and the flutter of lei, before leaping into the passenger seat. The tires squealed as they sped away.


	5. Chapter 5

"Did you see that?" asked Sam, as buildings sped past the window.

"See what? I got my eyes on the road here, Sammy." said Dean, with his eyes on the road.

"Hawaiian Elvis"

"No way, he's doing Blue Hawaii?"

"I dunno, Dean, I'm not as big a musical nut as you are."

"What're you saying, Sam?"

"Nothing, it's just fangirling over this… whatever this is… isn't going to help"

"You're just mad because you're usually Mr Research and for once I have the answers" Dean cracked a smile.

"All the answers, huh? So, what're we dealing with here, Sherlock?"

"Uh… zombies? Ghouls? A ghost maybe? Alright, so I know nothing. How's sweaty jumpsuit man?"

Sam leaned back to the overweight man drooling in the back seat. "Well, he's breathing and… salivating."

"Hey, man. Wake up! Get your fluids off of my baby!" Derek snorted and turned over, but showed no sign of waking up. Angrily, Dean slammed his fist on the horn, shaking Derek from his slumber.

"Where am I?" mumbled Derek, wiping the saliva from his mouth before thinking better of it and scraping it off on his jumpsuit.

"Ah, that old one. Always the first question they ask."

"Who are you?"

"And that's number two. You wanna handle this, Sam, I'm busy driving"

"It's alright. We're here to help; we'll find somewhere safe to put you. Tell me, what do you remember?"

"Linda called me, she said she found something awesome, but she had to go to the police station. I thought that I'd surprise her by doing this" he gestured to his suit.

"Elvis gets her running, huh?"

Sam shot him a look. "Not now, Dean."

"And then she came in and we went up to the bedroom and then she started floating and she went red and… Oh God." Memories started coming back to him as he looked down at his ash-ridden clothes.

Dean finished the sentence "And she burst into flames (to Sam) Yellow Eyes?"

"Not unless he's started LARPing"

"Linda? She's dead?"

"I'm afraid so. Do you know why?"

"No, I can't think of anything. She was always very kind and she always gave to charity and…" he looked down at his hand and touched his ring.

"You were married?"

"Nearly; next month."

"I'm so sorry, man. Listen, we're going to find you a motel for the night. The thing that took Linda might be after you too, but you're safe with us. Anyway, it's best to stay safe an hidden for now"

"Right. I don't know what to… to…" he coughed and slumped against the seat, falling asleep.

"He's under. Probably a coping mechanism."

Dean nodded. "Anyway, I know a place around here. One star hotel –it's not much but it'll do for tonight."

The impala's taillights scared red light through the night. As fast as they went, they were always followed by the faint sound of an acoustic guitar.

"What's that?" A stout finger touched the screen, staining it.

"An old muscle-car, I think. Parked a few minutes before the fire, left almost immediately afterwards. Prime suspects, if you ask me"

"Wait a minute; I've seen that car before. Can we check surveillance outside the station?"

"You think they've been here?"

"Worth checking?" They placed a DVD in the drive and sped through the footage.

"There, do you see it? The same car; now who are they?"

They turned as the door opened behind them. "Are those the FBI guys that were in here yesterday?" It was the receptionist, leaning against the door frame, eying the two officers in the dark office, their faces illuminated by the computer screens.

"They're FBI? What happened?" The glint of a badge flashed from her chest pocket.

"Not much. They flashed their badges, asked about Miss Arnold, checked her stuff, interrogated her, asked me out and drove off." replied the receptionist.

"That's interesting, because there's footage here of their car outside Miss Arnold's house just before this happened" A click of the mouse and a video came up on the screen. Five seconds later, smoke started pouring from the windows and soon the roof blew into a fireball.

"Oh my God. Why is it the only guys into me are pyromaniacs?"

The female officer lowered her voice "This has happened to you before?"

"Just the once. Nevermind. That's them carrying someone out of the house!"

"So the charge against them is now arson and a kidnapping and no-one in the FBI seems to know them. Tricky customers."


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, the sunlight forced its way through the shoddy torn curtains of the Southern Star Hotel. A pillar of light hit Sam square in the eye, waking him from his fourth hour of sleep. Groggily, he pulled himself up and surveyed his charges. In the bed next to him was Dean, lying face down, fully dressed and on the couch opposite them was Derek, who hadn't awoken since the car, but out of harm's way for the time being.

Looking at the alarm clock (8 am) Sam threw his pillow at where Dean was lying. Even in his sleep deprived state, he managed to hit Dean square in the face.

"Dean, get up. We need to sort this thing out."

"Sam, it's eight in the morning."

"Two people are dead, Dean. We've got to get up early if we're going to beat this thing"

"That easy for you to say, Sam, you slept in the car."

"I'm going to get started on this research. Elvis sightings and so on. Maybe the music memorabilia place Jeff went to."

"Yeah, you do that. Done? I'm gonna go back to sleep."

"Actually, the shop's quite close. It's within an hour of where we are right now."

"Lovely. But not relevant to me going to sleep"

"It boasts that it sells the rarest musical artefacts. All eras of stuff. A wig worn by Beethoven, a shoe worn by Jimi Hendrix, a painting by John Lennon and a thong belonging to Britney Spears…"

"Alright Sam, I'm up. What about this thong?"

"Get your head in the case, Dean. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Are you thinking about whether it's been washed since?"

"Hell no. I'm thinking if you've got famous stuff from so many musicians…"

"Then maybe they had something belonging to Elvis?"

"So what are we waiting for?"

"Alright, but this time I get to sleep in the passenger seat."

"We leaving Derek here?"

"He's a big boy, I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"We're driving past the Arnolds' house or what's left of it. We didn't really check it out last time. Might've missed something."

"Alright, Sam. We've got time. Only the shop's only open 'til 5 and it's… why, it's barely 9. I'm so glad we went all early bird on this worm."

The impala sauntered round the corner, coming up on the ruins of the Graceland look-alike. Ash had covered the surrounding area so the house looked like the pupil of some gigantic eye. Around it was a layer of police tape, housing the swarm of officials in white suits and masks inside. The brothers exited the car in their monkey suits. Dean lifted the Police tape over his head, where Sam chose to step over it.

They approached one of the many suited clones and pulled out their badges. Dean: "FBI, agents Ford and Hammil. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Has anything gone missing? Anything unusual?"

"Well, nothing much. The fire started on the second floor and… well…" He pointed upwards. Sam's and Dean's eyes followed his finger to the blue sky above. "Clearly it's not there anymore, so not that much in the way of evidence."

"Of course. So nothing odd?"

Sam sidled up beside him "very low E.M.F. There might've been a ghost here, but the readings would be a lot higher if it was still here."

"So the ghost of Christmas… (is there an Elvis joke here?) isn't anchored down here?"

"It's a ghost, it must be anchored. The anchor must be moving. Question is who's 'Stuck on you?'"

Dean smirked. "I knew you were a fan"

"It was in the research Dean. The murders all seem to be connected to some of his songs. Jeff was killed by a _hound dog,_ y'know, _in the ghetto_"

"And Linda was a hunk of _burning love_. It's nice to have a serial killer with a sense of humour for ounce."

A glint of white caught Sam's eye. It was quite possibly the most important a toilet has ever been in a murder investigation. "What's that?"

"Don't tell me you've never seen a toilet before, Sam? I thought I raised you better"

"Dean, a woman lives here."

"So?"

"So where's the toilet seat?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe not. But you've got to admit it's weird."

"Sam. Please. I've seen weirder things in my belly button."

"And over there. The mirror, it's not over the mantelpiece. Maybe Linda took it down and she was going to put something new up. Maybe something a bit artsy and a bit occult."

"Makes sense. Maybe it was the thing in the bag. We done here?"

The brothers made their exit as the forensic scientist's phone went off.

"Any news?" It was the voice of a no nonsense female officer.

"We haven't found anything to indicate the cause of the fire, but we did get a visit from the FBI."

"The FBI? A tall guy and a bow legged one?"

"Dealt with them before?"

"They're not FBI! They're suspects!"

"Bloody Nora." His head snapped around, but the impala was nowhere to be seen.

"They're gone"

A low growl came over the phone before she hung up.


	7. Chapter 7

As the sun wound its way to the middle of the sky, Derek was awoken from his sleep by the faint sounds of strumming. It took him a few minutes to sit up and to fully take stock of his situation. In an instant, the awful reality struck him; he was without a fiancée or a house and had been taken hostage by two violent young men who claimed he was being pursued by an undead rock legend. He collapsed onto the bed.

"Oh God."

"Well, since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell. It's down at the end of lonely street at heartbreak hotel."

On the door he spied a note the boys had written on the door. He pulled it down and read it; _gone to investigate a music merchandise store which might be haunted. Stay out of trouble. S and D. x._

Great. So they'd left him to fester here while they went gallivanting about. Were they trying to find the thing that killed Linda or were they going off on a tangent? A haunted music shop? Are they kidding me? The kiss at the end was the final straw. They obviously weren't taking this seriously. I'm leaving.

He tried the door. Locked! And they'd taken the key. They obviously didn't think he could look after himself. Or worse; maybe they'd killed Linda; that could be how they got there so quickly! They started the fire! They did that crazy voodoo stuff! That's why they trapped him here- they were coming back for him later.

What about the windows? Bars blocked his way. He'd never be able to break his way through that. What sort of terrible hotel puts bars on windows? One that kidnappers and arsonists use for cover, presumably. No way out.

"Don't make me so lonely, baby. Don't make me so lonely"

Once again he was struck by the futility of his situation. If only Linda were here. She'd know what to do. She was always so level headed. Oh God how he missed her. But she was gone and he was alone. So alone. His only salvation from his solitude was the killers who would come for him and burn him as well.

He was suddenly very aware of the ceiling fan and the… rope on the table. Had that been there before?

There was a way out. One where he'd see Linda again. Suddenly he knew. There was knowledge inside his head now. New knowledge. He reached for the rope and flung it over a blade of the ceiling fan. He moved a stool beneath it and started tying a knot; a noose. He'd never tied one of those before. Well, he'd never done this before.

And he never would again.

A leather jacketed man watched on. He nodded.

"I'd be so lonely I could die"


End file.
